


Thoughts of Flight

by lenaballena



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Pregnancy, Ridiculous amounts of fluff, Weddings, everyone's crazy in case you didn't already know, just as a heads up, references to drugs but they're super minor, some mentions of past abuse and self harm, there's a fight in an alley-way, wedding mishaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:11:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenaballena/pseuds/lenaballena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's wrong. What isn't wrong?</p><p>They can't find Gavroche, Musichetta can't fit into her dress anymore, Marius was picking up Eponine's dress and got lost and possibly arrested (they're still trying to decipher his texts) there's a crazy woman who claims to be family of the bride harassing security and trying to gain access to the wedding, and Feuilly just punched one of Combeferre's cousins. Twice. She can't find Grantaire, and hasn't seen Enjolras either, which means both Eponine and Combeferre's best men are tearing into eachother somewhere, and if it's the sexy kind of tearing she's going to kill Grantaire, and if it's not she's absolutely going to murder Enjolras because their best friends get one special day and dammit he is not going to ruin it because Grantaire doesn't drink free trade coffee.</p><p>Oh, and Jehan doesn't like the flowers.</p><p>(or: when Combeferre and Eponine get married, and everything goes wrong but turns out right)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughts of Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Eponine and Combeferre are in complete control, except for when they aren't. Cosette is suspicious, Marius is lost, Feuilly is pissed, Enjolras is distracted, Musichetta is sad, Joly is nervous (surprise surprise), Bossuet is injured, and Grantaire is a gift.
> 
> (for some reason, i got the idea for this and then just couldn't get it out of my head)  
> enjoy? I guess?

 The most amazing thing is that Eponine isn't freaking out. Eponine deserves a medal for not freaking out. When this day goes down in infamy, children will be told legends of how Eponine never freaked out. She's just sitting in the little creepily-white bride holding room, in her underwear, her hair and makeup still rocking the just-got-out-of-bed look, clicking her tongue against her teeth, calm as she's ever been. Cosette's going to actually go out and buy her a medal if they live through today.

"It's going to be fine, 'sette." She's smiling, too. Stroking the side of Cosette's face, comforting her, and hah, isn't that funny, because the bride is supposed to be freaking the fuck out, not her bridesmaid. "One more time. What's wrong?"

What's wrong. What _isn't_ wrong?

They can't find Gavroche, Musichetta can't fit into her dress anymore, Marius was picking up Eponine's dress and got lost and possibly arrested (they're still trying to decipher his texts) there's a crazy woman who claims to be family of the bride harassing security and trying to gain access to the wedding, _and_ Feuilly just punched one of Combeferre's cousins. Twice. She can't find Grantaire, and hasn't seen Enjolras either, which means both Eponine and Combeferre's best men are tearing into eachother somewhere, and if it's the sexy kind of tearing she's going to kill Grantaire, and if it's not she's absolutely going to _murder_ Enjolras because their best friends get _one_ special day and _dammit_ he is not going to ruin it because Grantaire doesn't drink free trade coffee.

Oh, and Jehan doesn't like the flowers.

Cosette takes a deep breath. "Gavroche is gone and Marius is lost and probably in a Mexican prison with your dress and I think your mom is here, either that or some homeless woman is adamant about seeing your nuptuals and Chetta is probably crying because her bridesmaid dress doesn't fit and I don't think Louis approves of Feuilly's life choices and Feuilly doesn't approve of Louis' face and I can't find Enjolras or Grantaire and Jehan went to go get honeysuckle and I think he said gladios because the flowers you have aren't true love enough also I think I might maybe be pregnant but we can talk about that later."

Cosette breathes in harshly, face flushed, and Eponine continues clicking her tongue, as if making a mental tally of her grocery list, rather than everything that's falling apart at her wedding.

"Well, that's unfortunate." She says at last, standing up, and people can talk all they want about Cosette's delicate beauty and Musichetta's sultry allure, but Cosette will always believe Eponine is the most beautiful one of them all. She just screams godess, with dark eyes and skin and darker hair, full lips and a look of power and grace that just seems to come naturally. Especially now, with the way she's standing: proud, determined, and so elegant in her little slip. "So, who is actually in a three hundred foot radius right now? Amis-wise."

Cosette thinks for a second, still a little out-of-breath and _still_ freaking out. "Um, Me, you, Ferre, probably Courf, Bahorel, Feuilly, R and Enjolras _somewhere_ , Chetta, and Joly."

"Okay." Eponine takes a deep breath. "Text Jehan, make sure he knows when the wedding starts and leave him be, he'll get back in time. Send Courf or Bahorel out to find Gavroche, tell him I'll make him a eunuch after I'm a Mrs., and set Joly on Feuilly duty, he'll calm him down. Then, if Feuilly still needs to work through some issues, make him watch the doors, he can get my mom out of here. Oh, and then send Chetta in here, have Ferre text Enjolras and I'll take care of Grantaire. Sound good?"

No seriously, Eponine deserves an award. A car. A _country_. Cosette kisses her on the cheek and pulls up the bottom of her dark blue dress (Eponine is having no fucking pastels at her wedding, thank you very much), making to scurry out of the door.

"Oh, and Cosette?" She stops before the doorway, and looks back at Eponine, who has pulled out a copy of Frankenstein (one of her favorite books) and begun to flip through it. "Have three different people text your husband. One of the texts should say that I'm in tears, the other should say that you are, and the third should say Enjolras is on the warpath. He'll find his way here soon enough."

Eponine should be elected president.

 ----------------------------------

Combeferre is their guide. When things fall to shit and Les Amis are freaking the fuck out, Combeferre is the one who fixes the chaos and brings them all back to sanity. He is the immovable object to their unstopable force and he is always, _always_ in control. Cosette knows this. Cosette expects this. But honestly, walking into the little dark room reserved for the groom and his entourage and seeing Combeferre calmly texting on his smartphone is not something she was expecting to do. Not today, and not given their present circumstances.  Around him, Bahorel is shirtless and wrapping his knuckles, Courfeyrac is holding two cellphones and talking quickly, and loudly, into both of them, Bossuet is holding an icepack to his face, and Azelma is practically sitting on Combeferre's lap, whining about wanting to be a bridesmaid.

"Cosette. Is everything okay? Is Eponine alright?" Combeferre says, looking up with a look of worry in his eyes. Cosette can't help but smile; surrounded by chaos and only shaken by the thought of Eponine being unhappy.

"She's great, just a little frazzled." Cosette leans over and grabs Azelma by the arm and pulls her off of the arm of Combeferre's seat. Azelma glares at her, and the little entitled brat has never been Cosette's favorite and she's on edge as it is, so she says, "I don't want to hear a single word from you, this is not your day, for a few hours you are not the center of attention, go find Musichetta and see if she'll let you wear her dress, if not I don't know what to fucking tell you. Now get out of here before I have you escorted out." She jabs a finger at the door and the room goes silent.

Combeferre's smirking at her, eyebrow raised, and the rest of the boys are just staring, shocked, as Azelma doesn't say anything, just huffs and stomps out of the room. Courfeyrac smirks at Cosette fondly. "Damn, 'sette. I like it when you get bossy." He winks at her, then goes back to his phones. "Yes, Je, I know you believe in the meaning of flowers, I think it's a lovely gesture, but you are running _very_ low on time, wait, hold on- dammit Marius, it's not that hard to travel two blocks to the dress shop, you useless freckled llama of a man!"

"Be nice to my husband." Cosette says lightly, on autopilot, because the phrase is so familiar to her by now that she doesn't even have to think about it. She giggles softly at Courfeyrac's shocked expression as she hears Marius' voice, tinny and projected through phone speakers, shouting angrily in Russian.

"What the-"

"Marius speaks Russian now." She says, shrugging.

Courfeyfac rolls his eyes, but looks as fond as she does. "Yeah, because French, Spanish and Japanese weren't enough..."

"Sorry to interrupt that riveting sarcastic remark, but, Cosette, did you need something?" Combeferre says dryly, looking up from his phone at last.

"Oh! Right." She takes another centering breath. "Well, I'm sure you know that various Amis are missing and in various stages of freaking out, including my husband, and since Eponine has bestowed upon me the task of damage control, I need to borrow your men."

"Go right ahead." He says, nodding once.

"Okay, um, first of all. What's going on here?" She points at Bahorel. "Speak."

"I, uh, may have possibly scheduled a boxing match this morning on accident a couple months ago and bet quite a lot of money on it, and I had to go or lose it all."

"Still have all your teeth? No face injuries?"

"Do you _know_ me?" Bahorel says with a cocky grin.

"Perfect. You won't ruin the wedding pictures, then." Cosette throws him his t-shirt (easily recognized by the blood splatters on it, as well as the white text reading 'IF JESUS LIVED HE'D PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE FOR BEING AN ASSHOLE' ) "Find Gavroche. No fighting."

"Aye-aye." He moves to exit the room, kissing Cosette on the cheek before he goes.

"No fighting!" She calls again, teasingly.

"Yeah, yeah yeah."

"Now you." She points to Bossuet, though she can honestly guess why he's injured.

"Tripped and hit my head on a lamp-post." He grumbles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Courfeyrac, still arguing with Marius, hears this and rolls his eyes.

"Let me see." She leans down to inspect him as he pulls the ice-pack away, wincing. His eyebrow is cut, but luckily his eye doesn't seem to be bruising. "Oh, sweetie. Alright, I'm gonna need you to go find your boyfriend and girlfriend, kay? After Joly's had his conniption, tell him Feuilly's been fighting and needs to be calmed down, and after Chetta's done kissing your injuries tell her to go see Eponine. Can you do that?" Bossuet nods weakly and Cosette places a light kiss to his eyebrow.

"Whadya got for me?" Courfeyrac says as soon as Bossuet leaves. Cosette frowns; she hadn't thought of any tasks for him.

"Guest control." Combeferre says, not looking up from his phone.

"Say what?"

Combeferre looks up at him. "Well, Marius was supposed to help our wedding guests into their seats, welcome them and such, but he's currently god-knows-where, so we need someone to take over for him. That's you."

"Is flirting encouraged when seating wedding guests?"

"Practically required." Cosette says with a smile. "Play spot-the-single and cheer them up, no one likes being single at weddings."

"Kay, lemme just tell Jehan." He goes back to his phone, and Cosette smiles to hear him asking his fiancé for permission to flirt. When it's granted, he says goodbye to Jehan and Marius and cracks his knuckles. "You know, it's been a long time since I've done this."

Cosette smiles at him warmly, then runs a hand through his hair to get it sufficiently fluffed. "Don't worry, it's like riding a bike. Just make sure you've got your dimples ready and able, and your hair in all of its fluffy lady-killer glory. And unbotton your top button; we need you looking like the cover of a crappy romance novel. But, um-" She places a hand on his chest to stop him from moving. "Maybe make sure the men are interested before you flirt too much; from what I've gathered, not all of Ferre's family is all that tolerant."

"Yes'm." Courfeyrac says with a smirk, before saluting them both and sliding out of the room backwards (he's been practicing his moonwalk). Once the door clicks shut behind him, Cosette turns to face Combeferre.

"I call shenanigans." She says, walking towards him.

"I _told_ Eponine not to introduce you to Awkward." Combeferre mutters, shaking his head.

Cosette ignores him and continues. "You put Marius in charge of greeting guests? I love him to death, but c'mon. It took him three weeks to even speak to me after we met, and he still gets lost in our house. Which we bought two years ago. What made you think he was capable of interacting with strangers and helping them find out where to sit?"

Combeferre shrugs. "He wanted to help out, Eponine thought he could handle the responsibility. Speaking of, don't you have an elsewhere to be and people to find?"

"Oh, right." Cosette kisses him on the cheek and scurries towards the door. As she opens it, she glances back to Combeferre. "But I still think there's something very not-right about all this, and I will find out what it is." She blows him a kiss, picks up the hem of her dress, and flutters out the door.

Combeferre just smiles to himself, and goes back to editing Enjolras' speech on his phone.

  ----------------------------------

"I'm _fat._ " Musichetta whines, shaking her hands a little.

"You're not fat." Joly pets her hair understandingly.

"Yes I am, and now I'm being annoying and superficial about it." She huffs, then pouts at him. "Baby, I can't fit into the same bridesmaid's dress I fit into two weeks ago."

"Well yes-"

" _And_ I'm getting heavier every day!"

"Well yes, but-"

Musichetta groans and leans back into her seat. "I'm a whale."

"Well yes, I mean, no, I mean... 'Chetta, you're _pregnant_!" Joly says, readjusting his groomsman tie nervously. "And you're perfectly healthy, gaining weight at a completely normal rate."

Musichetta huffs, rubbing at her belly. "I still say you're full of shit, and that I'm getting way too fat to be normal."

Joly presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. The door opens slowly, and Bossuet enters, clutching his bleeding temple and an ice bag.

"Oh, honey." Musichetta coos, lifting herself off her seat carefully, holding her stomach like it's constantly surprising her with its weight. "What happened?"

"Are you bleeding? Why are you bleeding? What have you done now? Have you let anything touch the wound? Have you washed your hands? _Who gave you the icepack_? Why didn't you come to _me_ first I'm the doctor-"

Musichetta smiles at Bossuet, both of them ignoring Joly's familiar rant, and she gently takes the icepack from his hand and sets it down on the table. "Bossuet. Amor. What happened?"

"-was the point of all those years of medical school if the people I love won't come to me for help when they _break their faces_ -"

"I tripped, hit my head on a lamp-post." He grumbles, and Joly stops for a breath.

"Okay, well, that's not bad. Where'd you get the icepack?" Joly leads Bossuet to a chair and sits him down carefully.

"Combeferre. I though- well, he's a doctor, right?" Bossuet shrugs, as Joly pulls some antiseptic wipes out of his pockets and begins cleaning the wounds.

Musichetta sighs, exasperated. "It's also his wedding day, lindo. "

"Chetta, you know I don't like condescending Spanish." Bossuet whines, as Joly begins cleaning the cut. "It's not even your first language."

" _Jito_ , you _worried a groom with your broken face_. You deserve condescending Spanish." She tuts, then sighs, handing Joly the iodine she keeps in her purse. "You should have come to us."

Bossuet sighs, closing his eyes against the sting of disenfectant. "I know, but Joly fusses-"

"I do not."

"You _do_." Bossuet says with a smile, grabbing Joly's free hand and kissing it, slowly. "I love you for it, but you do.  And Chetta, you were fat and sad, and I thought-"

"I was not fat and sad!" Bossuet flushes, then opens and closes his mouth with a look of despair. Musichetta frowns, and takes pity. "Querido, why must you _always_ say the wrong thing?"

"Just lucky, I guess." Bossuet says, shrugging and smiling sheepishly. Joly finishes cleaning the wound, placing a little band-aid on the cut. He kisses Bossuet slowly, stroking his hair.

"Besides," Musichetta strokes her stomach thoughtfully. "I _am_ fat. Como una ballena," She grumbles.

"No you're not!" Joly exclaims, rising quickly. "You are a perfectly healthy and normal size for a woman three months pregnant and carrying twins, now would you _calm down_?!"

Bossuet and Musichetta both stare at him, shocked. Musichetta finally speaks, hands holding her stomach. "I'm...having twins?"

"Um, yes?" Joly stutters, wringing his hands.

"And you didn't _tell me_?" Musichetta cries, poking Joly in the chest. "I _knew_ I was too fat to be having one child; dios mio, mi amor, I could _kill_ you!" She smacks him across the head gently, her tone chiding, then kisses him, smiling as she does.

"We're having twins? Oh my god we're having twins." Bossuet says, before pulling both Joly and Musichetta into a hug, then kissing them both softly.

Musichetta kisses Bossuet again, then Joly, and strokes her boys' hair gently. "I have my boys, and soon... I'll have my _children_." She sighs, closing her eyes slowly, letting the calm that the two of them always bring her wash her fat worries away. "How did I get so lucky?"

"Please," Bossuet sighs, smiling gently. "Everyone knows _I'm_ the lucky one in this relationship."

  ----------------------------------

**Contact - Bossuet [recent messages]**

_11:36 am: thank u som uch for fixing the cake problem i owe u for_

_11:36 am:  not that i dont owe u a lot already_

_11:43 am:  ok the building number is 1824_

_11:45 am:  ferre says its next 2 th@ pizza place u tried 2 get shut down_

_11:50 am:  he needs a 3 teer dark blue cake_

_11:50 am:  or whtvr colors they hav_

_11:52 am:  KAY THANK YOU MUICH LOVE_

Enjolras sighs, and places his phone back in his pocket. Normally, he would send Bossuet a condescending and sarcastic message concerning his text language and spelling, but he has other things to worry about today. Namely; the fact that he's at a bakery that smells heavily of flour and melted butter (which, sure, is to be expected, but is still nauseating) trying to pick up a wedding cake that Bossuet apparently forgot to order in time. A wedding cake which, if Bossuet didn't give them enough time to prepare, will be nonexistant. And if he can't get a wedding cake, then Combeferre and Eponine won't have one. Which, apparently, will be something of a disaster. He makes a mental note to murder Bossuet later.

He runs his hands through his hair, a habit he picked up from Grantaire, and sighs. This line is _way too long_. He glances at the woman in front of him, a little frumpy thing in a bluish dress. He taps her on the shoulder, and puts on the face Grantaire likes to refer to as his 'ladies-and-gentleman-hold-onto-your-sexualities' face, then thinks better of it, switching to what Courfeyrac likes to call his 'you-would-literally-sell-your-soul-to-see-me-smile-again' face.  She turns, and seems almost breathless for a second.

"Hello ma'am, my name is Enjolras." He smiles again, and the woman looks about ready to fan herself from over-excitement. "It's my best friend's wedding day, and we don't have a cake, and I'm very short on time. Do you think maybe I could get in front of you?"

She nods silently, and Enjolras kisses the back of her hand with a smile. She then makes a breathy little giggling sound, and Enjolras thinks maybe she might be having a stroke, but he's not entirely sure what the signs of that are. Oh well, he has other things to worry about at the moment. He moves in front of her with a slightly less charming smile, then completely forgets about her and focuses on the man in front of him. He's a few years younger than Enjolras, probably still in college. _Time for him to hold on to his sexuality._ ...he cannot believe he actually just thought that. He sighs, and pulls one headphone out of the man's ear carefully, then puts on the smirk that always seems to make Grantaire flush and want to lose his clothing.

"Hey, um, I'll give you my number if you let me get in front of you?" He says, not even wasting time trying to flirt; Grantaire's reminded him a million times how terrible he is at it. The guy shrugs, leering at him with what is, no doubt, meant to be an attractive smile.

"Sure, why not? I need to get laid more than my sister needs a dozen croissants." He holds out a hand. "I'm David."

Enjolras takes it with a smile that's approximately 95% fake and 5% pained, but it seems to charm 'David' enough. He grabs a pen from the counter in front of him and scribbles Bahorel's number on David's hand. What? He still hasn't gotten over that time Bahorel set up Grantaire with that awful writer and they ended up dating for two months, okay? He's allowed to hold a grudge.

David moves aside easily, winking as he does. Enjolras feels like he might be sick, and keeps up a mantra of _it's for combeferre, it's for combeferre, it's for combeferre..._

This is gonna be a _long_ day.

  ---------------------------------- 

 "Ep?" Musichetta says, head slowly peeking into the bridal room.

"Hey, 'Chetta." Eponine says with a smile. "How's the bump?"

Musichetta rolls her eyes and gives her stomach an annoyed look. "An inconvenience, and making me too fat to fit in your surprisingly beautiful bridesmaid dress." She sighs, and sits down on the beige couch. "Ep, Azelma asked if she could wear my dress. Lord knows she doesn't have the curves I have- well, _had_ , but she'll fit into it, at least." Musichetta sighs, and wrings her hands, a clear sign of Joly's influence. " _Madre de dios._ " She sighs again, and Musichetta only speaks in Spanish to calm herself, so Eponine knows the other woman is not happy about this. "I might not be able to be a bridesmaid for you, after all. Is... is that okay?"

Eponine sighs and leans back into her chair, still dressed in her little white slip. "'Chetta, how long have we been Les Amis?"

Musichetta frowns, obviously not having expected the question. "Desde... sophomore year of college?"

"Mm-hmm." She stands up and crosses to the mirror, applying a little more mascara. She glances back at a confused Musichetta. "And who always has a thermometer for Joly, a spare tie for Bossuet, a flask for Grantaire, band-aids for Bahorel, a pack of cigarettes for Feuilly, a spare map for Marius-"

"Combeferre." Musichetta interrupts. "Por supuesto. Para, is this when you gush to me about how wonderful your future husband is? Because, ya pa' que, and I'm kind of stressing here, so maybe now isn't the best-"

"My point _is_ ," Eponine starts, holding up a finger for Musichetta to be quiet. "I am marrying the most prepared, put-together man ever to avoid an accident." She moves in front of Musichetta, and places a gentle hand on the side of her face. "We had another dress fitted for you last week, Marius is picking it up. Go ahead and give Azelma your dress, what's one more bridesmaid?"

Musichetta frowns, confused. "Cosette said Marius was delivering your wedding dress..."

Eponine laughs, light and teasing. "I love Marius. He was practically my best friend for a long time, and I think he's one of the best men I've ever met. But _fuck_ if I'm going to trust him with my _wedding dress_." She pauses. "Not that your replacement dress isn't important, just-"

"No, I completely understand." Musichetta says, grinning. "That's actually really brilliant."

"Thanks. Of course, Marius would be hurt if he knew I didn't trust him, so he thinks he's been handed an exceptional responsibility." She picks up her phone slowly. "So you can't tell anyone, okay?"

"My lips are sealed." Musichetta says with a huge grin. "But, Ep, if Marius doesn't have your dress... who does?"

  ----------------------------------

 "Um, I'm here to pick up a dress?" Grantaire says, shuffling back and forth a little. This shop is majorly off-putting, way too much white and fluffy. "There were some last-minute adjustments that had to be made? Apparently? Something to do with lace and a bodice and not enough cleavage?"

The woman at the desk is an idiot. He feels like Enjolras for judging someone so early and harshly, but c'mon; she's been giggling since he started speaking, blushes profusely as soon as he says cleavage, and drops her pencil at least three times. "Sure, what's your name?"

"Grantaire. But the order isn't under my name, so-"

"Oh." The girl (whose nametag reads Fiona) giggles again, and says, "Right, so, um, what's the name under?"

"Eponine." Grantaire says slowly.

"Eponine..." Fiona tuts and sucks on the end of a pencil. "Um, right, checking the records, I guess... is that with an A or an E?"

"Oh for Christ's sake..." Grantaire groans; he _really_ doesn't have time to deal with her right now. "Is there _no one else_ who can help me?"

"Um, my manager, yeah," Fiona grins and says, "Hold on, I'll find her." She disappears down the hallway for a couple of minutes, and Grantaire starts apathetically browsing through the fluffy things. He's considering how paint splatters would look on this particularly innovative (and apparently French) dress, when a little voice 'eh-hrms' behind him.

When he turns around, a little dumpy woman with tiny glasses and white curly hair is glaring at him with disapproval. "Don't touch that dress, don't talk unless I say to, and _don't_ waste my time."

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at her no-nonsense attitude and dislike of ordinary people and grins. "You wouldn't happen to be related to my boyfriend, Enjolras, would you?"

"Boyfriend?" The woman visibly relaxes, and her glare becomes the slightest bit less hateful. "Oh, well, at least you're not a future husband, or, god forbid, one of those 'friend-zoned' whiny idiots." She moves behind the desk and pulls out a white binder. "You're picking up a dress. First name, last name, phone number, and address of the bride, with no extraneous details." Fiona coughs once, and the woman (who doesn't have a nametag) closes her eyes briefly, as if in pain. " _Please_."

Grantaire gives her the information, and watches as she writes it all down, then orders Fiona into the back, shoving a little slip of paper at her.

They stand there in silence for a second, the woman scribbling some things down in her binder quietly and Grantaire trying his best not to be too awkward (and failing). "So lemme guess; you get a lot of guys coming in here depressed because the love of their lives is marrying someone else and they have to help them with the wedding?"

The woman looks up at him through her glasses. "You have _no_ idea."

"That's the _worst_." Grantaire groans, then tries to remember what Cosette told him months ago. "The friend zone is just some... male creation to justify their anger when women won't sleep with them even though said women have shown no previous interest. They think that being a 'nice guy' is enough to make someone fall in love with them; it's ridiculous." He scoffs, shaking his head. Hopefully he got the speech right.

"Well." The woman puts down her pencil. "You certainly don't seem like an idiot, that's good." She glances towards a mannequin by the window. "Tell me. What fabric is that dress made from?"

"Um... white?" Grantaire says sheepishly.

"What's the cut?"

"The _cut_?"

"What edition of Vogue was it featured in?"

Grantaire has _no fucking clue_. Hopefully this woman won't cut his head off for being oblivious about dresses, but he kind of doubts that. "Uh, I don't read Vogue, sorry."

"Hrm." The woman puts down her pencil and looks at him, examining. "So, you're not the groom, you're not in love with the bride, you're not interested in fashion, and yet you seem happy to be here. Why is that?"

Grantaire smiles, happy, at least, to answer that question. "It's my best friend Eponine's wedding day, and I was here when she tried on the dress, and I helped her get the money to pay for it. ....without her knowing, obviously. And Ep, well, I know another girl, and she's like, my platonic soulmate, but Ep... she's even more than that. She's family. She's my little sister sometimes and my big sister and my mom all wrapped into one. She's been one of the most important people in my life for as long as I can remember. I just want today to be perfect, and I'm really happy she's getting married today." He pauses, and chuckles. "... _And_ I'm rambling, sorry."

"Don't be." The woman is no longer glaring at him, which is _awesome_. Sure, she has yet to actually smile, but Grantaire will take what he can get. He always has. "I think that's very nice of you."

"Thanks. I'm, um, Grantaire. It's nice to meet you..."

"Kathryn." She says, then the corners of her mouth turn upwards just the slightest bit. "It's extremely refreshing to meet you, Grantaire."

He smiles then, thinking perhaps it's safe to approach the desk. "Listen, when Eponine tried on the dress, she tried it on with this beautiful veil... it had sort of a flower crown thingy on top, and the front went a little below her eyes, and the back went down to the middle of her back, and it looked _beautiful_ on her, but she didn't have enough money to buy it with the dress." Eponine had hated that she couldn't buy the thing. She said it made her feel like a goddess, and was reluctant even to take it off. So Grantaire had immediately checked the price on it, and, in time, got the money together to pay for it himself. "She's gonna kill me for this, but I wanted to buy it for her now, if there's still one in stock."

Kathryn nods, just as Fiona emerges from the back, carrying a large dress bag. She hands it to Grantaire, who immediately checks the name on the bad and unzips it, to be certain it's Eponine's dress. Not that she doesn't trust Kathryn's shop to get the order right, but he _really_ doesn't trust FIona to pick the right dress, because she just walked the wrong way behind the counter and bumped into the side of it, before going around the right way. She goes to ring out the dress, before frowning and saying, "Auntie, the computer isn't working."

Kathryn shakes her head. "Because you have to turn on the monitor, silly girl." She rolls her eyes at Grantaire, who smiles back.

"Oh." Fiona says. "Right. Sorry." She smiles sheepishly and giggles, then clicks away at the keyboard while Kathryn disappears into the back. "Um, what was the name on the dress again?"

Grantaire sighs and gives the tag to her. "Is this your first day or something?"

Fiona looks up, confused. "No, I've been here for a couple of months now." Grantaire raises an eyebrow, and Fiona laughs (instead of giggling, that's a surprise). "Yeah, sorry, I know I'm terrible. Most customers hate dealing with me." She glances towards the back. "She's getting a veil, yeah?" Grantaire nods, so Fiona leans forward and whispers conspiratorily, "I _hate_ this job. It's all tulle and lace and pissy entitled women. My parents are making me work here, instead of this awesome record store a couple blocks away. They wouldn't even let me _apply_ there. So I'm hoping if I'm inedecuate enough, auntie will fire me." She shrugs, and Grantaire is suddenly really impressed.

"Solid plan." He says, nodding, then thinks. "Hey, um, this record shop... is it the one with the giant clock painted on the front of it?"

"Yeah!" Fiona says, grinning. "You know it?"

"I do, I painted the clock..." Grantaire trails off, then glances at the counter. "Can I borrow some paper and a pen?"

"Go for it." She says, looking back at the monitor. "Don't worry about my inadecuacy. I won't screw up the order; math is kinda my thing."

Grantaire nods, and scribbles his cell number and email on the back of one of the dress shop's business cards. "I trust you. You seem like a smart kid." He holds out the card to her with a smile.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" She says with a teasing smile.

"I do indeed. But that's my cell and my email, so you can get in touch with me if and when you get fired." She looks confused, so he continues. "My ex-boyfriend is the manager of the record shop, I can get you a job there in a heartbeat." He just wishes he could remember the name of the shop, but at least he remembers the boyfriend, Liam, and that they broke up amicably.

"Really?" Fiona says. "Oh my god, that would be _awesome_. Thank you so much!" She moves around the counter, gives him a quick hug, then races back. She looks at the monitor with a huge smile on her face. "Okay, well, the dress has already been paid for, so you're good to go. Nice job on the record store painting by the way, the clock kicks ass."

"Thanks," Grantaire says, then waits a couple of seconds before Kathryn emerges with the veil Eponine fell in love with all those months ago. "Oh, that's perfect, thank you so much."

Kathryn gives him a half smile, and hands the veil to Fiona. "Put it in a bag, Fiona. And make sure it's the _right size this time_." She says sternly.

"Right." Fiona says, then giggles. "And the veil bags are, um..."

"In the shelf marked _veil bags_." Kathryn says, rolling her eyes. Fiona nods twice, before winking at Grantaire and disappearing under the counter to retrieve the bag.

"Okay, so, how much do I owe you?" Grantaire says, which is stupid, because he knows exactly how much he owes her. He pulls out his wallet and glances at Kathryn expectantly.

She sighs like something is paining her and grumbles, "Oh, you can have it."

'Wha- no I couldn't-"

"Yes, you could, and it's your friend's wedding and you're the least horrible male we've had come in here in ages." She's doing that half-smile again, and when Fiona emerges with the bag, she holds it up to Grantaire with kind eyes. "The last time I gave something away free or discounted was a year and a half ago. But from what I've heard, and seen," She says, gesturing to Grantaire's ratty painting shirt, scuffed up Converse he bought two years ago, which are covered in paint and unsavory stains, and torn-up, paint covered jeans. "You deserve it."

Grantaire is stuttering now, thrown back by the worth of the gift. "Thank you, oh my god, I don't know what to say-"

"You're welcome." Kathryn nods once. "You should probably leave before I get annoyed with you, though."

Grantaire smiles, takes the bag, and kisses her on the hand once. Yeah, he knows it's cheesy, fuck off. "Thank you so much, Kathryn."

"Yes, you've said that already." She makes a little 'shoo'-ing motion with her hand, and Grantaire beams at her, hoists the dress bag over his shoulder, and leaves the dress shop.

 ----------------------------------

Bahorel sighs and put out his cigarette with a grimace. _Where the hell is Gav?_ He thinks, scanning the area around him for the little brat, and then he spots him. The kids not in his suit yet (thank god) but he's racing toward Bahorel like he's just accidentally blown something up. _Oh. GOOD._

When he gets to Bahorel, he's gasping, but he manages to cough out, "Got bored - went to - pick pockets - saw - Montparnasse - coming to - Ep's wedding-" He wheezes, holding his side.

"Montparnasse is coming? _Here_? How does he even know she's getting married?"

Gavroche shrugs, still panting. "Mom knows too, she's inside." He coughs out, face red.

"Oh for fuck's-" Bahorel stops. "Oh my god. Wait, no, no, Gav, this is good. This is really good."

"Good?" Gavroche stands up to his full height, an intimidating five-foot-three. "Are you _stoned_?"

Bahorel rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. "Feuilly punched some brother or cousin of Combeferre. He needs to blow off some steam. I'll send him on Parnassehole duty, and I can take care of your Mom." He pauses. "...she _wasn't_ invited, right?"

Gavroche gives him a look of pure condescension, and Bahorel thinks _yeah, that was a stupid question._ "Um, my mom's kind of _impossible_ to reason with, you remember her and dad at the Lark's wedding." Bahorel shudders. It had taken six of them to carry that horrid couple out of the wedding; he still had Eponine's dad's teethmarks in his arm.  "You sure you can handle her?"

Bahorel gives him a proud smile. "I'm in law school, little dude. If there's anything the Thenardier's are even kind-of afraid of, it's jail. And your mom is way less bat-shit than your dad, I'll be fine." He smirks and enters a quick text to Feuilly. His phone buzzes less than a few seconds later with a text in response, and it just says _**sounds fun.** _ He laughs, a booming thing that makes Gavroche flinch a little. "Oh, that fucker's gonna _die_."

  ----------------------------------

It doesn't take Feuilly long to find Montparnasse. After taking off his suit and putting on some clothing more suited to beating the shit out of someone, he walks around the block once and finds Montparnasse sitting at a little table outside a cafe down the street.

The fucker's wearing all black; he's got a fitted European suit and shiny black boots, carrying a long black walking cane that most definitely has a sword inside, and wearing a very tall black tophat with matching black leather gloves. In short, this guy is _quite_ the douche, but the way he's sitting, combined with the slightly psychotic glint in his eye, makes him look like someone even a bodybuilder wouldn't want to fuck with.

"Montparnasse?" Feuilly says, sitting down in the chair across from him.

The man rakes his eyes over the black muscle-tank Feuilly's wearing and raises an eyebrow. "Who's asking?"

"I'm a friend of Eponine's." He says slowly, and the douchecake's grin becomes a little less salacious and a lot more threatening.

"Yeah?" Montparnasse says, nodding. "Well so am I. She fuck you too?"

Feuilly doesn't let the surprise or offense show on in his expression, even though he's genuinely tempted to reach across the table and beat that smirk off of his face. "No."

"Hmm." Montparnasse nods once, and raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side slightly. "Sure as hell look the type."

"The type?"

"Alive." He says, with a shrug.

Feuilly's eyes narrow. "You know, it's not wise for you to talk about her like that. Not to me."

Montparnasse laughs then, cruel and mocking. "Oh, really, soulless? And what exactly are _you_ gonna do about it?"

Feuilly intertwines his hands. "Not really the point. What are you doing here? Today."

"It's Eponine's wedding, carrot-top, how could I miss it? I'm an old friend."

"Emphasis on the old." Feuilly nods, face still blank. "In fact, I meant to say: loving the receding hairline, it gives you that... _mature_ look."

Montparnasse's hand flies to his hair, his expression half-terrified, and then slows and grins. "Oh, you're clever, aren't you?"

Feuilly shrugs. "It's been said." He leans across the cafe table. "So, I don't want you at Eponine's wedding. That you know already."

"I'm not tremendously inclined to care what you want, surprisingly enough." Montparnasse's grip tightens on the cane, and Feuilly's eyes follow the motion.

"Well, it seems we have a problem, then."

"Seems like we do."

Feuilly glances around quickly, still turned towards Montparnasse. "There's an alley on the other side of that sandwich shop. It's a bit cliche, I know, but,"

Montparnasse shrugs. "Classics are classics."

They get up at once, and move as one onto the street. They reach the alley in short time, and Feuilly looks Montparnasse up and down assessingly. He's about Feuilly's height, decent build, and, as he thought before, such an asshole. He takes off his tophat first, then his black gloves and jacket. "Seriously?" Feuilly raises an eyebrow at him.

"It's _vintage_ , asswipe."

"God help me. Okay, so what are the rules, cupcake?" Feuilly says, leaning against the building wall, arms crossed.

"No face shots." Montparnasse grunts, folding his gloves and placing them on the cardboard box upon which the rest of his douchey attire rests.

"Oh, you _would_." Feuilly scoffs. "Don't want to mess up those feminine features, I suppose."

"Okay, fuckhead, we can do face shots. Weapons?" Montparnasse says, off-handedly, before pulling a small knife out of his pocket.

Feuilly rolls his eyes. "Fuck off."

"Fine." Montparnasse grins. "Winner goes to the wedding. Loser... well, probably loses some teeth." He looks Feuilly up and down, takes in the ginger's lithe body, and smirks. Feuilly can tell Montparnasse doesn't consider him a threat; that's fine with him. He _loves_ proving people wrong.

Feuilly nods thoughtfully, and cracks a couple of his knuckles. "We ready?"

"What do you think, ginge-" Montparnasse is cut off suddenly by Feuilly's fists clenched in his probably uneccessarily expensive button-down. Feuilly shoves him against the bricks calmly, but with more than enough force, and Montparnasse lets out a breathy chuckle. "Hmm-" He coughs a little, then grinds against Feuilly's hip. "Actually, scratch that, could I interest you in some anger sex?"

Feuilly growls in response.

"Yeah, thought so." Montparnasse rolls his eyes. "Oh well, your loss. _Fucker_."

 ----------------------------------

About ten, fifteen minutes later, Feuilly lights a cigarette. Montparnasse, with a split lip, a most-likely broken nose, and a mouth pooling with blood (he was right about the tooth loss), is curled in on himself, wheezing painfully. "Want one?" Feuilly mutters, lips around the cigarette, and holds out the carton.

Montparnasse lets out a moan and writhes a little.

Feuilly chuckles quietly, then kneels down beside him, blowing a slow cloud of smoke in his face. "Hey, pretty boy, how about that sex now?" Montparnasse moans again, and Feuilly nods and pats him on the arm. "Maybe some other time."

He stands up again and grabs Montparnasse's cane. He pulls at the handle and, of course, a sword slides out. "Ugh, you are a terribly pretentious cliche, you know that? All you're missing is the big, black mustache." He moves back over in front of Montparnasse, who's glaring at him through half-shut eyes. "Didn't anyone ever tell you sword canes were dangerous?" In a quick motion, he tosses the cane in the air, catches the end of it, and slams the other side down across Montparnasse's head. He crumples to the ground anticlimactically, and Feuilly sighs. "Not to mention _so_ five years ago."

He breaks the cane against his knee quickly, tossing the wooden pieces on the ground near Montparnasse's head. He keeps the sword; figures Montparnasse can live without it, and hey, at least now he doesn't have to buy a present for Gavroche's birthday. He glances at the pile of clothes stacked on an empty cardboard box, and gives them a thoughtful asessment. Feuilly grabs the tophat and flips it onto his head with a grin, then whistles as he walks out of the alley.

Really, stress relief is a wonderful thing.

  ----------------------------------

 Grantaire rushes up the steps, careful not to drop either of the bags he's carrying. When he reaches the building, he sees Enjolras leaning against it, looking _pissed_. "Hey, you okay?"

Enjolras looks up at Grantaire and, thankfully, seems happy to see him. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine, Bossuet just sent me to the wrong cake shop."

"That's our Bossuet, I guess. Sorry he wasted your time." Grantaire says, shrugging, then kisses him quickly on the cheek and moves past him into the fancy-shmancy place Combeferre's parents had chosen for the wedding. He looks around, before seeing Cosette and Courfeyrac standing at opposite sides of the room, behind little podiums.

"Hey." He says, hoisting the dress bag a little higher. "Gonna guess you guys are the welcoming comittee?"

Cosette shrugs. "Better us than Marius."

"Yeah, a lot better." Grantaire says with a chuckle. "What's with the podiums?"

"They were here." Courfeyrac says off-handedly. "See, what we figured is, everyone likes to be flirted with, right? So when guests come in, we both say 'hi' at the same time, and whichever one of us they choose to talk to leads them in, a-flirting all the while."

"Ahhh." Grantaire says, nodding. "You don't want to assume sexualities, right?"

"Nope." Cosette says with a grin. "Even today, we all live in fear of the wrath of the dreaded Enjolras."

"So, um, where're we keeping the bride?"

Cosette points down the hallway to his left. "Down there, third left, then a right, then-" Grantaire raises an eyebrow at her, and she sighs. "Yeah, I'll just show you. Courf, can you cover for me for like, a minute and a half?"

"I gotcha." He says, nodding.

Cosette takes Grantaire's hand and leads him down the hallway, through a couple of twists and turns. "You look very handsome, you know that?"

Grantaire smiles at her. "And you look beautiful, as always."

They're silent for a second, before Grantaire frowns.

"Is she?"

"Not really, actually."

"Wow. Good for her. And is-"

"Still." Cosette says, shaking her head softly.

"Did you-"

"Chetta, Azelma, 'Rel, and Courf. It's under control."

"You're amazing. And Jehan?" Grantaire asks, as Cosette leads him down the stupidly long hallway.

"Texted."

"And did-"

"Yeah, Montparnasse was here."

"Oh, that's actually awesome."

"I know right?" She pulls a little on his arm and nods towards the bridal suite room-thingy.

"Love you." He says with a smile, kissing her on the cheek.

"Love you too." She kisses him back, and sets off, back towards the entrance. Grantaire smiles fondly at her, before realizing they've just had one of their conversations where their words are about 10% spoken, 90% telepathically implied. They do that sometimes, and it aggravates Enjolras to no end. Marius has just gotten used to it at this point, and chooses not to ask.

  ----------------------------------

 

Eponine is sitting on the little creepy bridal couch, half-heartedly scrolling through tumblr, when she hears a knock at the door and groans. After dealing with a frazzled Cosette, Musichetta, Bossuet, Joly _and_ Courfeyrac, she has yet another stressed-out visitor. Goodie.

Then Grantaire's voice says "Ep?" and Eponine is jumping off the couch and flinging open the door.

He's standing there, still in his ratty painting clothes, but with his hair combed very nicely and his face shaven, and holding two little bags, one of them very obviously containing her dress. Not pausing to consider that she might damage the dress, she throws herself into his arms. He drops the dress in surprise, and catches her small body in a tight hug.

"Hey, Ep." He says, surprised, as she squeezes him as tightly as she can manage. "Good to see you, too. Happy wedding day."

She smiles at him, and he lowers her gently. She pauses, and glances at the floor. "Please tell me you didn't just drop my dress."

"Hey, you attacked me. It's justifiable failure." Grantaire says, grinning at her.

"Ugh, get in here." She says, with a slight pout, picking up the dress bag and gesturing him inside. Once the door is closed, he hands her the smaller bag he was carrying. "What's this?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Just open it." He takes the dress bag back, and places it gently on the couch.

Eponine reaches into the bag and pulls out a veil. No, not just any veil. The veil. The veil she had lost sleep over, wondering if she could possibly fit it into her budget. The veil she had been trying to convince herself the dress would look fine without. The veil that was _very_ expensive.

"Taire..." She says cautiously, using the nickname she gave him when they were children, back when they weren't pretentious enough to make French jokes. "What did you do?"

" _I_ got a free thing by being gay and poor." Grantaire says, with a triumphant grin, flopping down onto one of the litle off-white cushions.

She raises an eyebrow and places a hand on her hip, a silent demand for an explanation.

Grantaire. sighs. "Okay, I know you said that I could go fuck myself if I tried to pay for things in your wedding, but I figured I owed you another wedding present, and you looked _gorgeous_ with the veil thing, so I figured it was more a gift for Combeferre anyway, so I saved up the money to buy it." She makes a little growling noise, but he silences her quickly with a raised finger. "Ah-ah! But _then_ when I went in to the dress shop, I met Kathryn and Fiona-"

"The angry one and the moron?" Eponine supplies, still looking threateningly at Grantaire.

"The same. Though Fiona's actually, like, cunning and shit, she's got this whole pla-" Grantaire pauses, noticing that Eponine's eyebrow is slowly climbing higher, and gulps. "I mean, anyway, Kathryn started talking to me, and I told her about how I had saved up money to get the veil, and she asked me these questions about fashion and determined I wasn't an idiot because I didn't know anything about fabric or dresses but knew about friend-zoning and had a boyfriend, and then gave me the veil free."

Eponine shakes her head, trying to process the information. "Okay, later, _after_ I'm married, you're going to explain that entire clusterfuck of unrelated things to me. In detail. For right now, let's just get the dress hung up, okay?

Grantaire smiles and complies, handing Eponine the hanger as she unzips the dress bag. "Oh..." She breathes, pulling the dress out of the bag with careful hands. "I forgot how beautiful it was."

Grantaire smiles at her, holding out the hanger gently. "Good, then you'll match."

"Shut up," She says teasingly, giving him a slight shove. She hangs it up in the little closet she's been given, then sits down next to Grantaire on the large white couch.

"How're you doing Ep? I know we've had some stress this morning." Grantaire says, and Eponine sighs.

"I'm fine, really. Everything's under control." Grantaire sighs and wraps an arm around her waist.

Eponine is a _flawless_ liar. She's had to be, living the life that she did, with the family she was born into. She's lied her way into concerts and out of arrests, and she has no tells, no nervous twitches, no reluctant pauses, nothing that would ever give her away.

Doesn't matter.

Grantaire always knows.

"Come on, 'poni." He mutters, using, like she did, a nickname from their childhood, and she cracks. She lets herself fall into his lap, and curls in on herself.

"I can't do this, 'taire. What made me think I could do this?" She says in a quiet voice, holding back tears.

"Of course you can." Grantaire says comfortingly, stroking her hair gently. "It's all working out perfectly, haven't people been texting you updates?"

"Yeah, they have. But..." Eponine sniffles a little, and with anyone else, she would _never_ show this much weakness, this level of insecurity, but this is Grantaire. He's seen her at her worst, and he will never, ever, think less of her for her flaws and insecurities. "'taire, I can't marry him."

Grantaire stiffens under her, and his hand falters in her hair for a second. "What do you mean?"

"How could I do that to him? He shouldn't marry someone like me-" She gulps down the lump in her throat. "I know he thinks he wants to, but I'm not good for him, Taire. I'm fucked-up, and you know it better than anyone."

Grantaire stops petting her hair and says in a voice that Eponine can tell is struggling not to sound angry, "Eponine. You are not fucked up. You were born in fucked-up circumstances, and did what you had to do to survive. You _deserve_ happiness, and Combeferre will give you that. He loves you, 'poni. Even more than I do, and that's sayingsomething."

Eponine nods. "I know he does..."

"But?"

Eponine turns her head into Grantaire's leg and mumbles something, indistint and rushed, and Grantaire turns her head back softly, with one gentle hand. "What was that?" He says softly, and Eponine can tell he's trying to be as comforting and patient as he can.

"I cheated on Combefere."

Grantaire's entire body stiffens, and his hand disappears from her hair entirely. "...when. With who?"

"I don't remember who with, just that I woke up, naked, laying next to some guy I didn't know in an apartment I didn't recognize. Left pretty quickly after that."

Grantaire draws in a breath. "When?"

"A few months after we started dating. ...two days after he told me he loved me."

Grantaire exhales again, relieved. "'poni, that was years ago. You.. haven't since?"

"No." She sniffles.

"...does he know?"

"Yeah, I told him. Remember, that big marriage equality protest in Boston? When he got into a fight and got arrested?" Eponine knows he does. It was so out-of-character for their guide, usually so composed and level-headed, to pick a fight with a homophobic asshole twice his size, not to mention, to get _caught_. She hasn't yet forgot how worried she was when he didn't meet up with them after the police showed up and the crowd scattered, when they saw the news report that proclaimed three men had been found dead after the protest turned savage. It felt like her heart was collapsing in on itself, like her entire world had been thrown off-balance. She still has nightmares, occasionally, of how he looked when she and Enjolras picked him up at the police station. He was covered in bruises, one of his eyes was swolen half-shut, his lip was split, he was holding his left arm in a way that was a sure sign of something being really wrong with it, and he looked at Eponine with cold, dead eyes.

"Oh." Grantaire says softly. "Yeah, I remember."

"We talked about it, and we- we got over it, but..." She trails off, and Grantaire waits quietly for her to gather the courage to say what she needs to. "'taire, he told me he _loved_ me, and I... I freaked out. I couldn't handle it, the responsibility. I had to, had to be good for- to him, and I loved him so much, and it scared me. What... what if I get scared again?" She sobs a little, tears falling down her face. "...'taire, why can't I love people right?"

"Oh, 'poni." Grantaire moves her a little, so he's hugging her, and she's crying into his chest. They stay like that, him stroking her hair as she sobs, not caring that she's ruining her makeup.

After a few minutes, Grantaire pushes her away gently, holding her shoulders. "Hey, look at me."

Eponine complies, looking up at him weakly.

"Don't say anything, okay?" She nods; this is something they always used to do in highschool. No verbal answers, just nodding or shaking their heads. It's easier than yes-or-no, for some reason. "Did you feel pressured; like you had to say yes when he proposed?"

Eponine thinks. When he proposed, they were lying on their couch; she was curled up against him, and they were drinking hot chocolate and watching Gangs of New York, a favorite movie they shared. He asked her inbetween lazy kisses, and it had been amazing. Nothing dramatic or overwhelming, no uncomfortable grand gesture. It was so perfect for her, and so casually romantic.

She shakes her head, no. She wasn't pressured, she was in love.

"Have you ever felt overwhelmed by your relationship since?"

Eponine shakes her head.

"Do you feel like you're rushing into marriage?"

No, she doesn't. It feels right. She shakes her head.

"Okay. Then just one more thing. Can you live without him?"

Huh.

That's something she's never thought about before.

She thinks back to the beginning of their relationship; when she was still hung-up on Marius, and he was always there for her. When Marius met Cosette, and Eponine went out and drunk herself stupid; when Combeferre found her, took her home, held her hair while she threw up, and let her sleep in his bed while he took the couch. When Eponine realized that she had never bothered to get to know the studious hipster who kept their group together; when she did, and realized how fun he was to be around. When she kissed him on New Year's Eve, and he blushed adorably.

She thinks about being crazy with Combeferre; him pushing her in shopping carts down empty roads in the middle of the night, the two of them sneaking into hotels; pretending to be guests and going night-swimming in the pools. Then she thinks about being calm with him; him taking her to museums and telling her about various artifacts, her teaching him to play pool; falling asleep in his arms as they marathon Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

And then she thinks about life without him. Life without her handsome doctor sneaking back into their house at all hours of the night, trying every time not to wake her, every time forgetting what a light sleeper she's conditioned herself to be. Without a little note left for her every time he has to be at work before she's awake, saying that he loves her, that he'll be back soon. Without him visiting her at her job at the publishing house; kissing her hello and making her co-workers jealous. Without the feeling she gets when she wakes up next to him; without kissing him awake and making breakfast together, singing horribly to equally horrible pop songs, wearing only his old scrubs.

Eponine sighs, wipes her eyes slowly, and shakes her head.

  ----------------------------------

_**[From: Courfeyrac]** MARIUS I S2G HOW DO YOU MANAGE TO GET LOST 2 BLOCKS AWAY I PRINTED YOU OUT 3  GOOGLE MAPS AND HAD THE GPS ON YOUR PHONE GIVE YOU DIR..._

_**[From: Musichetta]** Marius, se que tienes problemas with getting lost and probably are stressed out as it is but Cosette is freaking out and ahora esta llorando asi quisas pu..._

_**[From: Azelma]** my sister is crying + im psure its ur faultbcuz she said smthng abowt u pickng up her dress so get the fuck back here k?_

_**[From: Bahorel]** Eponine is crying. FIX IT_

_**[From: Grantaire]** It would be in your best interests to return ASAP because I'm pretty sure Enjolras is, like, abortion-rights-protest-pissed. Seriously, his face is doing that thing it doe..._

_**[From: Grantaire]** Correction: Enjolras says if you're not back soon, he's going to come find you. Do I need to tell you that's not something you want?_

_**[From: Courfeyrac]** WHY ARE YOU MAKING ENJOLRAS ANRY_

_**[From: Courfeyrac]** HOW DID THAT POSSIBLY SEEM LIKE A GOOD JUSGEMENT CALL_

_**[Battery Has Reached Critical Level]** _

_**[Powering Off]** _

Marius sighs and slips his phone back in his pocket. Good. Now he's upset his wife, pissed off a psychopath, _and_ made one of his best friends cry. On her _wedding day._ And his phone just died. He gives a little whimper and glances at his surroundings, then at the map Courfeyrac gave him. _Okay, so to get back I just follow the instructions backwards, right? So I find the dress shop, take... two lefts, and a right... and a left. No, a right. No, um. A left. Okay, yeah a left._ He smiles and looks around. _Oh god. Where's the dress shop? Was it... no, um, it was.... Oh god._

He is _so_ screwed.

Nothing about where he is looks even vaguely familiar. It's his fault, really, for not holding onto the map tightly enough. Because a gust of wind just _had_ to come along and blow it away, and then he was forced to chase it, and now he has no idea where he is. He lets out a string of curses, beginning in English, but then he glances at a little girl of about seven sitting on the curb a couple feet away from him and switches seamlessly to Japanese.

After a second, he glances at the map, and _finally_ finds the street he's on. Well, it's a start.

  ----------------------------------

About ten minutes after Eponine realizes she can't even think about living without Combeferre, she and Grantaire decide to have a dance party. They turn out the lights in the room, put both their phones on strobe light mode, and hook up Eponine's ipod to a set of speakers they always carry around. Once Eponine insisted that it wasn't fair that he was fully dressed and she was only in a slip, Grantaire had stripped down to his boxers, as to level the playing field, so they're both half-naked. Doesn't matter, it's not like they haven't seen it all before.

Eponine and Grantaire dance as Eponine's Grantaire playlist shuffles, from 'Raise Your Glass' to 'People Like Us', and when 'Thnks Fr Th Mmrs' comes on, they shout along to it. Finally, when they're happy again, screaming and dancing together, Eponine stops, breathless.

"God, 'taire." She gasps, pulling him down to the couch beside her, then leaning her head on his shoulder. "I think we're too old for this."

He grins at her, wild and cheeky. "No such thing, my dear 'ponine."

"You're my second favorite person in the entire world, I hope you know that." She says, smiling.

"Seco-" Grantaire starts, before nodding. "Okay, I can deal with that."

"Help me with-" Eponine gestures to her face and hair. While her appearance didn't exactly scream ready-to-marry before, now it screamed ready-to-sell-my-body-for-cocaine. Which wasn't really what she was going for on her wedding day.

Grantaire smirks, and nods. He takes a clean makeup-towel-thingy and uses it to wipe off her smudged mascara. Before helping her with her hair and the rest of her makeup, however, he pauses their dance playlist and puts on 'Let Her Cry'. Eyes closed, she makes an affronted noise.

"I know, I know, but like it or not, it's our song, 'poni." He says with a smile, and leads her to the little swivel-chair thing in front of the mirror.

He's done this for her a thousand times; though, in the past, nine times out of ten when Grantaire was doing Eponine's makeup it was to cover up bruises and black eyes. It feels nice, and she's glad that Grantaire's doing this for her, today of all days. After he's done reapplying her mascara, he starts on her hair. They decided long ago that she would do this complicated half-up half-down twisty curled thing, and Grantaire starts curling it for her, singing along as he does.

This is nice. It's the most important day of her life (or so she's been told) and she's here with the person who was the most important in her life for a very long time. They're together, singing along to the song that, yeah, okay, has made her cry her eyes out more times than she can count, but it's their song. And it's just the two of them. Helping each-other through the pain and insecurity, through the life-long damage their childhoods so kindly bestowed upon them. Just Eponine and Grantaire, the two of them against the world. Though, she guesses they aren't all that against the world anymore.

He kisses her on the cheek as he finishes, and turns her so she can see herself in the mirror.

"Oh... wow." Eponine says, letting out a breath. "I look.... _wow_. _Thank you._ "

Grantaire smiles, and reaches behind him. "And, one last thing..." He holds up the veil that he supposedly got for free, and places it gently on top of her head, careful not to mess up her hair.

"You look divine, 'poni." He kisses the top of her head again. And yeah, okay, she really does. For a man with less fashion sense than most homeless people, and less eye for style than the average blind person, Grantaire has a remarkable talent for making Eponine look beautiful.

"Thanks, Taire." She smiles at him. "Listen, I love you, and I can't thank you enough for talking me through my crazy. But-"

"You need to be alone for a bit." Grantaire says, nodding.

"Is that okay?"

"Of course it is." He looks down, and notices that he isn't wearing a shirt, or pants, or... anything other than his boxers. "Shit, I should've brought my tux in here-"

Eponine just smirks and points behind her, to the clothing box against the wall.

He looks back to her, grinning. "You're the best, you know that?"

 ----------------------------------

A couple minutes later, 'Corbeau' is drifting through the air and Eponine is still watching herself in the mirror (what? she looks _awesome_ ). Grantaire's phone buzzes, and he stops pulling his pants on for a second. "Do you mind?" He says, gesturing to the dresser, where his phone rests.

"Nah." Eponine leans over and grabs the phone. "Lesse..." She unlocks it, guessing the password after a couple of tries. "You have a text from- oh my _god_."

"Hmm?"

"I forgot about your contact list- you _still_ haven't changed them." Eponine says, rolling her eyes, and Grantaire shrugs.

"I think they're funny." Eponine raises an eyebrow. "Shut up, Thenardier, and read me the damn message."

"Well, there's a few. Half an hour ago, 'the disney one' texted you to say that her husband was still lost, and ten minutes ago 'the grabbed my ass one' texted that guest greeting is for the weak. And the most recent text, from 'the scary fucker', says that top-hats are the shit."

Grantaire laughs. The contact names are from years ago, back when he first met Les Amis. Back then, he got drunk so often he couldn't even be bothered to remember people's names, so he just entered their numbers with half-drunk descriptions.

Enjolras was 'the pretty one', Cosette was 'the disney one', and Marius was 'the doofy one'. After meeting him at a club, Courfeyrac had been dubbed 'the grabbed my ass one', and Jehan was forever 'the male disney one'. Combeferre was 'the Giles one', Joly was 'the batshit one', Bossuet was 'the spilled my drink one' and Bahorel was 'the big angry one'. Finally, there was Musichetta, 'the rapper's girlfriend', Feuilly, who was, obviously, 'the scary fucker', and Gavroche, 'the tiny scary one'.

Eponine was entered as 'the best thing that's ever happened to me', because she chose her own contact name when he bought his phone (and he couldn't contest it, because Eponine had him entered in her phone under the very same name).

"You don't have to text any of them back, I have nothing to add." Grantaire pulls on his suit jacket slowly, then assesses his reflection thoughtfully in the full-length mirror in front of him. "Hey, I look _good_." He says, turning slowly.

"Of course." Eponine says off-handedly, curling a piece of her hair around her finger. "The blue suit brings out your eyes."

"You know what, you're ri-" Grantaire pauses, and looks at her suspiciously.

Eponine raises her hand. "Who's the best ever?"

"You chose your bridesmaide dress colors based on what would look good with my eyes, didn't you?"

Eponine shrugs. "I thought it would be a nice touch. Your boyfriend gave me color advice." Grantaire rolls his eyes fondly, and Eponine shrugs. "What kind of bride puts her man of honor in a suit that doesn't make him look hot? That would just be mean."

Grantaire moves over to her quickly and pulls her into a hug.

"I love you, Eponine."

She smiles and hugs him back. "Love you too, Grantaire."

  ----------------------------------

_**[From: the love of my life]** Jehan sweetie not to alarm you but get the fuck back here before Enjy kills you_

_**[From: the love of my life]** Sorry was that mean?_

_**[From: the love of my life]** I hope that wasn't mean_

_**[From: the love of my life]** I LOVE YOU_

Jehan sighs and exits out of his recent messages, then checks the time. **1: 32.** _Okay, looking good. Sort of._ He's got about twenty minutes before the wedding is supposed to begin, and he should make it back with time to spare. He's got all the new flowers, paid for with his own money, and.... not enough arms with which to carry them. He opens a new message to Courfeyrac, ready to ask for a hand, before absent-mindedly glancing out the window of the flower shop.

...it can't be. Jehan freezes, then squints, trying to make out the figure across the street.

It is. The ridiculous Marius Pontmercy is wandering around outside, looking at a folded-up piece of paper like it contains the secrets of the universe.

_Well_ , Jehan supposes, _For him it does._

  ----------------------------------

"Hey, 'sette." Courfeyrac says, and Cosette stops doodling on her wedding invitation to look at him. "Got the time?"

She pulls her phone out of the neckline of her dress and unlocks it with her thumb. "One thirty-six."

Courfeyrac does some simple subtraction in his head quickly, then freezes. "Shit. I'm late. Oh shit, I _knew_ I was forgetting something." He glances at the podium. "Can you cover for a few minutes?"

"Sure-" Cosette nods quickly. "But, Courf, what's up? What're you late for? I thought we had everythi-"

"'Ferre's last-few-minutes-of-bachelorhood freak out. He always freaks out seventeen minutes before an event. And I'm three minutes late."

"Seventeen minutes?" Cosette says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I know, it makes no sense, but we're talking Combeferre. He was born exactly when he was supposed to, to the minute. If he's ever late in his life, there's probably an apocalypse occuring so it won't matter anyway." Courfeyrac rolls his eyes and hurries down the hall, calling back to Cosette, "Which means he's been freaking out for three minutes with no one to calm him!"

  ----------------------------------

When Courfeyrac gets to the door, it opens half a second before he even knocks to reveal a glaring Combeferre.

"You're late." He says gruffly.

Courfeyrac shrugs. "Yeah, I know. How out-of-character of me." He shuffles into the room, and turns to face Combeferre with a cautious smile. "So... what'd I miss?"

"I'm not good enough for Eponine, I'm not going to make a good husband, and I've been pondering the consequences of escaping through that airduct." Combeferre says, pointing to the vent in the cieling above Courfeyrac's head.

"Oh, good." Courfeyrac says, sitting down. "So nothing major."

Combeferre sighs and falls into his wooden chair defeatedly. "Eponine is more spirited than I, and should be with someone fun. She's been through far more than I have, and I can't even begin to relate or council her through rough times because I haven't experienced half of the horrible things she has. She's beautiful, a goddess in her own right, and I've been told on multiple occasions that I bear an astounding resemblance to a turtle. I'm a doctor; I work long, erratic hours and will no doubt face intense psychological repurcussions of the cases I will see. I'll be in and out of the house at all hours of the night, and I can't offer her any stability at home. Also, I'm reasonably confident the ventilation system can hold my weight; I've examined the building's structure."

"You- what?"

Combeferre shrugs. "The blueprints weren't that hard to acquire."

Courfeyrac gapes at him. "You _hacked_ into- I don't even know, wherever crazy people go to ascertain the structural integrity of the critical part of their escape plan?"

"I had some spare time." Combeferre says casually, then turns to glare at him. " _You_ were late."

Courfeyrac considers defending himself, but decides it would be pointless. "Whatever; back to your insecurities." He pauses. "Every point you made is valid and well thought-out, congratulations."

Combeferre raises an eyebrow at him. "As always, your advice is priceless. _Thank you_ , Courfeyrac."

"I'm not done." He says, glaring at his best friend. "Your points are valid, but they're stupid. Like it _matters_ that you're a turtle-face; Eponine thinks you're handsome. And you're a erratic hacker freak; Eponine thinks it's cute. You get home at the wee-hours of the morn; I'm willing to bet Eponine is a big fan of mid-night sex." He winks at Combeferre, who rubs at his face exhaustedly with the palm of his hand.

" _Why_ didn't I text Enjolras to help me with his?"

Courfeyrac sits down next to Combeferre and pats his knee. "Because, as much as I love Blossom, he's an emotionally constipated sock-monkey who has only recently realized that love is a thing that exists. Now shush, I'm not finished."

Combeferre groans a little, and Courfeyrac translates that into 'go-on, my bosom friend, your advice is invaluable, you ruggedly handsome warrior, you'.

"You love Eponine, right?"

" _No_ , I thought, 'well, I vaguely tolerate the company of this female and she's pretty and nicely-shaped, might as well marry her'." Combeferre says dryly, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, worked for my parents." Courfeyrac says, shrugging. "Anyway, you love her. You want to spend the rest of your life with her. Everything else is just... details."

Combeferre sighs. "But... I'm not good enough for her. Why should I let her make the mistake of marrying me?"

"Because you're in love. And she loves you too, and, I repeat; _that's all that matters_."

"But-"

"She wants to marry you. She didn't stop smiling for two weeks after you proposed, not even in her sleep or that one time Bossuet spilled hot-chocolate on a manuscript." Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. "Stop trying to be noble and save her. Just love her; it'll be enough. _I promise_."

Combeferre nods, slowly. "Okay." He looks at his friend slowly. "Thank you, Courf."

"'s what I'm here for." Courfeyrac says with a smile, standing up. "You good?"

"Yeah, thanks." Combeferre smiles at him, taking off his glasses and preparing to put in his contacts.

"Awesome, that was easier than I thought it was gonna be." Courfeyrac grins. "Shoulda remembered you were Mr. Always-In-Control, but seriously? You only  _considered_ escaping. On his wedding day, I had to pull Marius back in from a window, physically restrain him from fleeing the room, and then sing Disney songs to him for ten minutes. I am forever wary of soon-to-be-husbands." He opens the door and steps out of it, before pausing and shuddering. "God help us if Enjolras ever decides to get married."

He can still hear Combeferre's laughter when he's halfway down the hall.

  ----------------------------------

Enjolras is standing, vaguely exhausted and annoyed, against the side of the building when he sees Grantaire emerge again, looking a lot more relaxed than when he came in. Grantaire glances around, distracted, until he notices Enjolras and raises an eyebrow.

"You still here?" He says offhandedly, as he scans the streets around them.

"Turns out, Bossuet _did_ order the cake. But he sent me to the wrong bakery. Twice." Enjolras grumbles, kicking at the dirt. "You know, if I didn't know any better-"

"You'd say he was trying to keep you out of the way. Distracted, even." Grantaire says with a smirk.

"Yeah..." Enjolras pauses."R, are you okay?"

"Hmm?" Grantaire glances away from the busy streets. "Oh, I'm fine."

"Oh, okay." Enjolras stands there for a minute, silent, trying to understand why it is something feels wrong. And then he gets it; it's the second time this morning Grantaire has just blatantly disregarded him. He bites back a groan, and wonders what he's done today. "Um, I'm sorry, by the way."

Grantaire stiffens a little, then turns back to Enjolras, a more-than-slight fake smile on his face. "Sorry? Oh god, what have you done now?" He says, exasperated.

Enjolras freezes, mind racing. "I- erm, I was hoping you could tell me."

"Tell you?"

"What I did wrong."

Grantaire frowns at him. "Nothing, that I know of. Unless you've made one of Eponine's friends from work cry because they don't support LGBTQ rights."

"LGBTQA." Enjolras corrects before he can stop himself.

"Oh god, Enjolras, you _didn't_." Grantaire is looking a little more angry and a lot more exasperated, and Enjolras stutters to correct him.

"No, no, I didn't, I promise." He pauses. "In fact, now that I think about it, the threat of that is probably why Bossuet sent me to three cake shops..."

Grantaire smiles at him in a way that tells him he's right. "Then why are you apologizing?"

Enjolras absolutely does not feel a blush creep onto his cheeks. He takes a steadying breath and says, "Well, you've been... um, ignoring me? And that only ever happens when I've done something wrong, so the logical assumption is that I've done something to upset you, and as far as I know I haven't set coffee mugs down on any important sketches or accidentally stepped on your cat -um, our- _our_ cat-"

Grantaire chuckles, and intejects. "That's because you haven't done anything wrong. And I haven't been ignoring you; I've seen you twice in the past hour or so."

"Well, yes but-" Enjolras cannot believe he's about to say this out loud. "But you've just disregarded me both times and usually you're more, well, attentive, and you've barely spoken to me-"

And then Grantaire is giggling. _Giggling_ , the bastard. "Sorry, Enj, just to clarify, you're worried because you haven't been getting enough attention from me today? What are you, twelve?"

"Well, when you put it like that-" Enjolras blushes some more and suddenly Grantaire is pulling him into a kiss. It's soft, loving, and Enjolras just melts into it, clutching onto Grantaire gently. Grantaire breaks away after a few seconds, and Enjolras feels a little dizzy. It's strange that after these years of dating, kissing Grantaire still throws Enjolras' world a little off-balance.

"You are such a brat, you know that?" Grantaire whispers, mouth a thread away from Enjolras'. "Of all the things to be worried about today, you worry that I'm paying attention to things other than you, you insufferable thing."

Enjolras starts at that and makes an offended noise, but then Grantaire is kissing him again and he tastes like black coffee and cinnamon and is biting Enjolras' lip softly and he can't think of a single thing else.

When they break apart again, Enjolras' is feeling light-headed and Grantaire's looking smug, which is irritating. What is also irritating is that they're out in the street where Enjolras can't push him against anything and destroy him with his tongue, for fear of traumatizing small children and old women. Also a public indecency citation.

"It's Ep's weddding, you ridiculous idiot. I'm a little preocupied. I had to fetch the dress, keep Gavroche within a few blocks from here, give her a pep talk, and now I've got to make sure the puppy gets back with the other dress in time. Not to mention all the planning I had to do..." Grantaire shakes his head but smiles at Enjolras fondly. "For once in my life, I just don't have time for you."

That's a new one. "You're remarkably dedicated to this wedding, R. More so even than you were to Cosette's. It's strange to see you...." Enjolras trails offf, unsure how he should phrase it so Grantaire doens't get offended.

"Actually giving a shit? Being productive?" Grantaire smirks at him and runs a hand through his hair gently, so as not to mess up his dark curls. "It's Eponine's wedding, Enjolras. After a lifetime of being used by assholes, pining after Pontmercy, and being abused by Montparnasse the douchenozzle, my Ep finally found a good guy, who loves her, and I want to make sure her wedding is perfect. I mean, Jesus, I've spent the last few months working my ass off to find a way to fit a fairytale wedding in her budget, because if anyone deserves that, it's her." He glances around conspiratorily. "I sold a couple of my paintings to help pay for the bridesmaid dresses, but you can't tell her that, okay?"

Grantaire sold his _paintings_? In all the time he's known the artist, he's never once let anyone buy a painting; it's rare enough that he lets anyone see them. "Oh. Wow, 'Taire, that's... amazing of you, actually. I can't believe I didn't realize-"

"Yeah, well, every other day of the year you're my entire world, so I can't really blame you, can I?" Grantaire's smirking at him again, and Enjolras isn't exactly sure when he started idly stroking Grantaire's arm, but he isn't going to stop now. "But she's all I had for a really long time, saved me more times than I can count, usually from myself, and I want- _need_ to everything to be perfect today. For her."

"No, I get it." Enjolras smiles fondly at the other man. "Did you want any help?"

"Nah, I just gotta get Chetta's dress and help Jehan with the flowers, then all that's left is-" He pauses, takes a breath. "Is giving her away." He smiles then, beams, and it's a smile so pure and open, which Enjolras has only seen on his cynic's face a handful of times since he's known him. Enjolras's heart rate picks up and it occurs to him that his boyfriend is the most beautiful person he's ever known. He's so caught up in the smile that he doesn't notice Grantaire is leaning in until he feels the gentle kiss brush his lips. "I'll see you later, Apollo, I've got a puppy to find. Stay out of trouble?"

It's the use of the nickname that does it, really. He remembers when that nickname made him furious, when all he wanted was to remove Grantaire from his presence with as much force as was legal. He remembers when he thought Grantaire hated him, and when he _despised_ Grantaire, not to mention his drunken interruptions and snide comments (especially when those comments were valid and smashed holes in his arguments). How far they've come.

He reaches for Grantaire as he turns to walk away, pulls him back fiercely and presses their bodies together, bringing the cynic in for a bruising kiss, running his hands up his sides (because he knows Grantaire spent a lot of time on his hair that morning and wouldn't want it messed up) and this is it, this is why. It's because they fit perfectly together; they give and take equally and they're passion and ferocity, conflicting beliefs and misunderstandings, and it works. Enjolras is insensitive most of the time, thinks of the Cause before his friends, boyfriend, even himself, _and_ he's a tactless bastard; and Grantaire's got almost no self-esteem and too many past issues to believe in much of anything, _especially_ himself, but they're working on those problems, together. Grantaire lives in the mud and Enjolras in the clouds; they meet somewhere in the middle. They've known each other for years, been dating for about a third as long, and Enjolras knows his cynic very well. Better than anyone, he likes to think. But then moments and days like these come along, and Grantaire manages to surprise him. And then he's falling in love with him all over again.

They pull away and it's Grantaire's turn to look dazed as Enjolras idly strokes his jaw with gentle fingers. In the second of silence, Enjolras, for the first time in his life, takes an uncalculated risk.

" _Marry me._ " He whispers, and feels Grantaire's enire body stiffen in shock.

His eyes flash open, and he stutters out, "Say that again?"

Enjolras is nervous. _Nervous_. What is this man doing to him? "Shit, I'm sorry, I was going to do this at a better time, at a protest, or at one of the places you like to paint, not in the middle of the city during the day, but-"

"Just." Grantaire's staring at him now. "Just say it again, please."

Enjolras smiles now, and steps away from Grantaire. He pulls out the little black box he's kept in his pocket for ages, trying to find the perfect moment, and pries it open slowly. He kneels on the dirty pavement and takes a breath. "Grantaire, I love you with every part of me. I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want us to belong to each other. So, will you marry me?"

Grantaire isn't moving, he's just staring at him and the ring in the box. He gulps, and Enjolras, for the first time, has to consider what he'll do if Grantaire says no. Grantaire takes a breath. "Can you live without me?"

Enjolras freezes, half-terrified. "What?"

"Can you?"

Of course he can. He's not one of those stupidly romantic fools who die without the person they love, he's a revolutionary. He can live without Grantaire; without his smile, and his laugh, and the little paint marks he leaves in their shower. It would be difficult, but he could get used to a quiet, calm, home again, without Grantaire's singing, or him breaking shards of glass for some new art project, or his cat walking on Enjolras' face as he sleeps. It's not like he _needs_ the way he's always arguing with Grantaire about the stupidest things, or the way Grantaire rolls his eyes at Enjolras when he rants about social change, and especially not the way Grantaire curls around him when he sleeps, limbs everywhere, heating Enjolras up like a clingy human blan-

Oh.

Oh _fuck._

"No." Enjolras says slowly, looking back up at Grantaire. "...I really don't think I can."

Grantaire's face shifts, and his eyes soften and go wide at the same time. "Get up." He mutters, shaking his head.

Enjolras' heart stops. "What?"

"You're ruining your pants and I don't want the best man to have ruined pants. I've told you before, this wedding has to be perfect." He's smiling now, and Enjolras lets out a breath he wasn't entirely aware he was holding. "Now get up and kiss me, because of course I'll marry you, you perfect idiot."

It's one of the only times in his life Enjolras does exactly as he's told.

  ----------------------------------

"Marius!" Marius freezes, mid-step. He looks around, not entirely sure he actually heard his name. "MARIUS!" He hears it again and turns on his heel, glancing around, eyes scanning the streets frantically for a familiar face. "MAR-I-US!" He can't see _anyone_.

"...God?" He says quietly.

"Marius!" He feels a hand on his shoulder and spins around, about half way through a heart-attack. There's a long-haired ginger male with freckles standing in front of him, in a dark blue dress, with a crown of baby blue flowers in his hair.

"Oh. Hey, Jehan." He says, still breathless. "Thank _god_ you're here. I've been wandering for _ages_ , but I can't read this damn map and all these buildings look the same and my _phone_ died, as if that wasn't enough, and _god_ , I'm glad to see you. I thought maybe I'd have to miss Eponine's wedding, and then she wouldn't have her dress, and I couldn't disappoint her like that, and, you know, also there's the slight mind-numbing terror of being disembowled by Enjolras." He takes a breath. "Sorry, rambling. Anyway, hey, nice crown-thing."

He smiles at Jehan and points to his head, and Jehan raises an eyebrow in response.

"Uh, Marius?" Jehan says slowly. "You do realize you're _not_ speaking English, right?"

"Oh." Marius blushes with a sheepish grin, and makes sure he's speaking his first language before continuing. "Um... what language did it sound like?"

Jehan tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. "Well, I _would_ say Russian, but I know you don't speak it."

"Well, actually, I do. Now, at least." Marius says grinning. "Anyway, I said, nice crown-thing."

"Oh."Jehan smiles at him happily. "Thank you. I think  I heard 'Eponine' and 'Enjolras' somewhere in that speech, too?"

"Oh, I don't wanna miss the wedding. Or be eaten alive by Enjolras. Last time I screwed up Grantaire was barely able to restrain him." Marius shudders.

"Yes, thank heaven for appropriately timed blowjobs." Jehan says, rolling his eyes and smirking a little. "Anyway, not the point. I can't believe I found you! This is wonderful."

Marius can't help but agree. "What... what are you doing here? Did they send you to find me?"

Jehan shakes his head. "I was in the flower shop, across the street. It was the closest one to... well, everything, and the wedding was in desperate need of new flowers, so..."

Marius beams. "Wow, that's... really lucky, I guess."

"Even more so because _you_ , I'm gonna guess, need someone to tell you how to get back, and _I_ need someone to help me carry bouquets." Jehan says, gesturing towards the shop.

Marius just smiles in response. "Lead the way!" He gestures, then his face falls. "No, seriously, please  lead the way. I'm very, _very_ lost."

  ----------------------------------

Cosette and Courfeyrac have everyone seated, appropriately chipper, and excited for the wedding when Marius and Jehan show up. They've got twelve minutes before the wedding starts.

" _You_ -" Cosette growls at Marius, who shrinks a little. "Nevermind, we'll talk later. _Give it_." He hands over the dress bag sheepishly, and she yanks it out of his hands, before assessing the two bouquets he's also holding. "Those for the bridesmaids?" She says curtly, to Jehan, who nods, obviously a little frightened. Marius, who's much more than a little, nods his head so hard it's seconds away from falling off. She grabs those as well, though careful not to harm the flowers, and grunts at Jehan to follow her. "And the two of you better _damn well_ find Combeferre and your places!" She calls behind her, to the groomsman and her husband, as she marches down the hall determinedly.

When they get to Eponine's bridal room seconds later, she has Jehan knock on the door, since her hands are full, and calls, "Ep, it's me! Marius brought your-" The door opens. "...dress?"

Grantaire's the one who opens the door, but Cosette stares past him, to where Eponine is sitting, very calmly, in her wedding dress and smiling at Cosette like she has a secret.

"Ah, no," Eponine says softly. "That's 'Chetta's, actually."

Grantaire ushers both of them inside, and distributes the boquets. Jehan has five of them, all made of beautiful white and blue flowers. The biggest one is for Eponine, obviously, but what strikes Cosette is that he knew to get one for Azelma, who wasn't a bridesmaid until approximately half an hour ago. As she ponders that, Musichetta grabs the dress bag out of Cosette's arms and unzips it. Sure enough, an exact replica of all their bridesmaids' dresses (with a lot of extra fabric in the front, obviously) is inside. Musichetta drapes it across the back of the couch, and begins pulling off her sundress.

"Anyone not comfortable with half-naked pregnant women would do well to look away right about now." She says, before pulling the dress over her head.

Cosette moves next to Eponine. "I thought Marius was getting your dress." She says, tone light enough, but still accusing.

Eponine shrugs. "I suppose I got the orders mixed up."

Cosette turns to raise a you-reek-of-lies eyebrow at Eponine, before Grantaire makes a little yelping noise, phone in his hand.

"Alright, ladies and gentlepoet, we gotta book it. We have ten minutes before we start walking down the aisle, and we still have to get into positions. Everyone boqueted and sufficiently clothed?"

"Yessir." Jehan says, pulling the flower crown off his head.

Musichetta pats the fabric of her blue dress thoughtfully; it hangs off her delicately and fits her pregnant frame spectacularly. "You bet."

Azelma pops a bubble of her gum. "Sure."

Cosette turns away from Eponine; she'll interrogate her later. "Of course."

They all turn to look at Eponine, who stands up slowly and proudly. This is when Cosette gets a proper look at her friend in her wedding dress, with her makeup and hair done. She looks _gorgeous_. Like something out of a fashion magazine, but without the anorexia. The dress is perfect on her; it emphasizes her tiny waist, and the cut does wonderful things for her boobs. It's strapless, with a corset-esque bodice; lace peeking out on the top and ribbon crossing up the middle. It flows out gently; the bottom part falls in two sections, leaving a slit for a seductive-yet-elegant glimpse of leg. The train is about a foot or so long; long enough to be classic, short enough to be practical. Cosette moves around Eponine slowly, admiring her hair; it's in a very artistic half-up style, and Cosette nods approvingly at Grantaire for his work. Her dark hair falls down her back in soft waves, contrasting beautifully with the white of the dress. Eponine looks like royalty, or divinity, and everyone stares at her for a second, in awe, before Grantaire moves behind her and delicately places a veil on top of her head. The top of it is a flower crown, and Cosette notices Jehan admiring it. It falls just below her dark eyes, and adds just a tad more mystery to her ensemble.

Cosette doesn't think she's seen anyone look more beautiful in her entire life.

  ---------------------------------- 

Grantaire stands with Eponine, Musichetta, Jehan and Cosette, as Azelma, arms linked with Combeferre's older brother, follows Combeferre's little cousin down the aisle. He can practically feel the _leer_ Azelma is, no doubt, giving the man. Algernon, although not as attractive as Combeferre, is dashing enough in his own right, and Azelma's a bit of an eye-candy junky.

Gavroche went first; holding a little blue pillow upon which the wedding rings rested, then Margie, the seven-year-old flower girl. Combeferre and Enjolras are already at the altar, waiting. Now the bridesmaids and groomsmen are walking, and then it will be just him and Eponine.

The soft sound of a piano drifts through the air; accompanied by a light violin and what sounds like a harp. The music is light, and quite frankly, the prettiest thing he's ever heard. But there's something off about it. Grantaire frowns, and leans down to whisper in Eponine's ear, "This doesn't sound like the traditional walk-down-the-aisle song."

In the little corner of the hallway they're waiting inside, Grantaire sees Eponine smile. "That's because it isn't. Combeferre wrote this for me, gave it to the musicians for them to play." She tilts her head back slightly, and her eyes fall closed. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Grantaire chuckles softly as Musichetta threads her arm through Joly's, and the two of them set off down the aisle. "Yeah, Ep." He squeezes her hand softly. "It's perfect."

She smiles and opens her eyes again. The six of them stand there, quietly, until the wedding-helper-person beckons Cosette and Feuilly. Cosette kisses Eponine on the cheek quickly, beaming, and links her arm with Feuilly, who was wearing a really nice tophat but, at Jehan's insistance, took it off so as not to be different from the other groomsmen.

"You know," Eponine whispers, "Suddenly I'm regretting ever watching 27 Dresses."

Grantaire frowns, confused, before nodding understandingly. "Nervous to see his expression when he sees you?"

"Just- a lot." She says, with a nervous chuckle.

"Well, if he looks anything but happy, I'll distract everyone while you run away." He says, teasing, and she lets out a nervous breath and elbows him in the side.

Then, the wedding person gestures for Jehan and Courfyrac to move. They both squeeze Eponine's hands with kind smiles, before intertwining their arms and moving slowly down the aisle. Grantaire laughs to himself; he wonders how many bigoted relatives of Ferre's (of which there are several) realize that one of the bridesmaids is a man.

He turns to Eponine, who's breathing rapidly. "You ready?"

"...no?" She says, in a small voice.

"Well then, be brave." He says, teasing.

"I'm not brave, 'taire." She murmers, eyes wide.

He shakes his head slowly, and raises the hand he's holding so they both can see her arm. Stretching down the length of it are a multitude of fading scars; precise little lines from her own doing, perfect circular burns from someone else's. "You're the bravest person I've ever met."

She breathes in shakily, nodding, and he gently lowers her arm.

"Breathe." He says gently, squeezing her hand. She does, harshly, and he frowns. "C'mon, psycho, you can do better than that."

She smiles then, open and fondly irritated. "Don't call me psycho, freak." It's old banter, from middle school, but it seems to calm her. "You ready to give me away?"

He pauses. "No. But he's my fiancé's best friend, so I suppose I have to be nice."

Eponine's eyes widen, almost comically. "Your-" She grabs his left hand quickly and feels his ring finger, feels the silver band Enjolras slipped onto it. "Oh my _god_ , 'taire!" She hugs him, quickly, and when they pull away, he's beaming at her. "You're telling me everything later, I hope you realize."

"Oh, well there-" The music changes suddenly, and as the wedding person gives them the signal, Grantaire can tell Combeferre wrote the music, for Eponine and _only_ Eponine. There's so much love in the notes, so much adoration, that it's almost overwhelming.

She smiles at him, nervous and excited and in love. "I love you, 'taire."

"Love you too, 'poni."

She threads their arms together slowly as he hands her the boquet. Eponine takes a breath, and they begin to walk.

They get about halfway down the aisle before Combeferre looks up. He's not wearing his glasses, which is off-putting, but he looks very handsome. And he's _glowing_. His smile is soft, and small, like all Combeferre smiles are, and his eyes are full of love, and a little disbelief, like he can't believe how lucky he is. It's a good look on him, and Grantaire hears Eponine give an intake of breath next to him, tiny and surprised, and realizes she has to look the exact same way.

Then Grantaire notices it.

Eponine is beautiful; radiant. The veil is perfect and the dress is stunning. She seems to be shining, glowing with beautiful, pure, light; the kind overflowing with happiness. Any person with eyes would find it impossible to look away from her.

But Enjolras is staring at him.

His eyes are filled with the same love Combeferre's are, and when Grantaire meets his eyes he smirks, a teasing half-smile that Grantaire has always loved. Grantaire's fingers brush together, and he feels the little silver band on his ring finger happily. He smiles back at Enjolras, and it feels like they've just begun an entirely new chapter in their lives. It's a _really_ nice feeling.

Once they reach the alter, Grantaire lets his arm drop, squeezing Eponine's hand one last time. She glances at him, beaming, and her eyes say a silent 'thank you'. For everything. Grantaire nods, once, and goes to stand next to Jehan. He and Cosette are already crying, and Jehan wordlessly hands Grantaire three tissues.

They aren't enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Damn, this was a lot shorter in my head. Oh well.
> 
>  The title comes from a song by Edmund (which, if you like Doctor Who, the song gets bonus points because Arthur Darvill sings it)  
> someday I'll stop naming fics after songs  
> this is not that day
> 
> for Musichetta's spanish-ims: Jito is a term of endearment and 'ya pa' que' is sort-of slang for 'what's the point?'. For everything else she says, google translate is always helpful.
> 
> there aren't nearly enough fics in which Feuilly is a badass, so have another one
> 
> "let her cry" is by hootie and the blowfish. find it, listen to it, and think about Eponine. It'll make you cry.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
